I went with the Russian Orthodox Liturgy. There was a funeral from Svatagorsk Lavra in Eastern Ukraine. This area recognizes the Moscow Patriarchate for ecclesiastical jurisdiction rather than Kiev. This will give you some context, for Ukraine is very much a fractured country, with language and ethnicity differences between Eastern and Western Ukraine. Many ethnic Russians live in Eastern Ukraine. Anybody remember the Civil War from a few years back? The Ukraine-Russia conflict is centuries old, with genocide in the 1930’s figuring into the tragedy.

The women in their babushkas, the priests in their rich and colorful vestments carry on with the ancient liturgy, through Romanovs, Bolsheviks, and oligarchs, worshipping the eternal power against the temporal grasps for worldly control. They know, I suspect, what really matters. It is a knowledge that Rome has forgotten or chooses to ignore. Look no further than the Amazonian Synod, the current and latest travesty of the Bergoglio Papacy.

I shifted over to trainspotting, in time to watch a freight pass through Ashland. It looks like mixed freight with plywood, potash, and trash among the commodities hauled. I miss the caboose at the end of a train. It gave a sense of completion to things, like a pitched roof on a building. I hear another train horn. It could be Amtrak #98, running an hour late. It is, passing through now.

J should be up soon. Her sliced fruit is packed in her blue-striped insulated lunch tote. She will shower and leave for work soon. I will be alone. Again. I believe I reverted back to my 20 mg dose of Prozac (fluoxetine) too soon. The pictures of night, darkness, interspersed with street lights, headlights, the interior lights of passenger cars seem to fill my viewing. It is a sterile desolate world. I need to switch back to the Technicolor© world of Bugs, Elmer, Porky and Daffy. Or simply go back to bed.